


A good excuse to be a bad influence

by Del (goddessdel)



Series: I'll begin but I'll start at the end [2]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:24:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4142832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessdel/pseuds/Del
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The club is smoky and crowded, the whole building throbbing with the heavy bass, so loud that the words are indistinguishable and irrelevant.</p><p>He's sitting at the bar with two tumblers of scotch. "Hello, Melody."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A good excuse to be a bad influence

**Author's Note:**

> Written: 3/25/15-6/7/15
> 
> Title from "Bad Influence" by P!nk
> 
> Ridiculous amounts of thanks to Beverly, Alyssa, Megs, and Bree for their resounding support on this series and this fic. This little Mels thing has eaten my brain, and they only fanned the addiction. All remaining mistakes/madness are not their fault.
> 
> Please be sure you've read the first part of this series: _Start the car and take me home_ , or else this fic won't make any sense at all.
> 
> And before you ask, yes, there is a third part to this series already in the works.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

The club is smoky and crowded, the whole building throbbing with the heavy bass, so loud that the words are indistinguishable and irrelevant.

 

He's sitting at the bar with two tumblers of scotch. "Hello, Melody."

 

Mels slides onto the stool next to him, tossing back the glass he slides her way. "Hello, John." She says his fake name with the same wry twist that he says her real one. _Hello, Doctor_.

 

They have to lean close to hear each other over the music, only marginally quieter by the bar, and Mels watches him carefully. He's in a crisp white button-down under the same red-lined coat and dark trousers. It's even more out of place than the jumper in this sort of club.

 

The Doctor's gaze sweeps over her, palpable heat in those ice blue eyes, and Mels preens a bit under the attention. She's dressed for the club - knee-high black boots, short leather skirt to match her jacket, and a silk halter that just shows off the jewelry in her navel, suddenly warm at the memory of his teeth closing over the metal. She wasn't looking for him tonight - assuming he'd be at the wedding - but he'll do as a distraction.

 

"Another?" he asks, tearing his gaze from her and motioning negligently to her glass, already signaling the bartender.

 

She should kill him.

 

But she was trained to kill a man with floppy hair and a bowtie, and her training isn't quite certain what to do with piercing blue eyes watching her under heavy brows. She memorized all his faces, but this one is new. Did her minders forget one, or is he older? What if he's survived her? She needs to be certain before she goes to all the effort of killing him twice. "Better bring the bottle."

 

She'd be lying if she said she wasn't going to enjoy the investigation. Plenty of time to kill him later, after her parents return from their honeymoon and she's certain it's safe.

 

The Doctor thrusts a wad of colorful notes at the bartender, shooing him away gruffly as he moves to pour the bottle, but Mels grabs it first, taking a healthy swig, lips around the rim and eyes on his.

 

He watches her closely, twisting his empty glass in his hands. "Running away, again?"

 

Mels shrugs, sliding the bottle past her lips to pour them both several fingers. Her original plan for the night had been to get pissed, but she needs to be on her guard around him. Or just get him pissed first. "Opposite, actually."

 

He tosses back his scotch and leaves the empty glass on the counter, leaning so close that Mels can feel his warm breath on her skin. "Liar," he accuses in a rough whisper that trips across her skin like a promise.

 

That makes two of them, then. "What are you doing here? Still looking for your wife?"

 

She expects the Doctor to break away at her harsh reminder, means to slap him back into reality without the danger of her hand on his cheek.

 

Instead, he moves impossibly closer. "I'm looking for you."

 

It's Mels who pulls back, searching his clear blue eyes, trying to make sense of the wistfulness there. She feels suddenly small and lost because nobody is ever looking for her, not really, and why does it have to be the man she's meant to kill who makes her feel so important? "Why?"

 

He shrugs, but he peers at her intently from under furled brows. "Why not?"

 

Mels swallows her scotch all in one go, swallowing down the bitterness and vulnerability with it. "It's been years," she aims for nonchalant, but it comes out smarting and accusatory.

 

He turns away at that, pouring them new glasses of scotch and sipping his slowly. "Has it?"

 

"Don't you know?" _Or did you just skip ahead?_

 

He offers a self-deprecating grin, still not quite meeting her eyes. "When you get to be my age, it's hard to keep track of time."

 

Mels stares at the amber liquid in her glass, debating whether she should take it slow or run fast. "You seem to have a hard time keeping track of things. Does your wife know you're here?"

 

The Doctor smirks at her. "I told you - we have an agreement."

 

Arching one eyebrow pointedly, Mels abandons contemplating the scotch in favor of pinning him with a disbelieving look. "About sleeping with younger women?"

 

"About you."

 

Just because he doesn't rise to the bait doesn't mean she'll stop baiting him. "So you told her about me?"

 

There's something that slips through her tone, a bit anxious or hopeful, and the Doctor must catch it because his lips quirk as though he wants to smile. "She knows about you, yes."

 

Mels bites her lip, frustrated with his calm certainty and her lack of both. "But you didn't tell her. Did you get caught?"

 

The Doctor takes another slow sip of scotch and cocks his head to regard her curiously. "Does it matter?"

 

She feels something twist in her insides at the cavalier way in which he avoids her questions. He's playing with her because that's what he does. That's who he is. Mels throws back her scotch, the bitter burn exactly what she's looking for. "No, I suppose not. I doubt you're the kind of man who cares whether or not he gets caught."

 

At this, at last, his face closes off, pinched and almost... hurt? "That's not true."

 

Mels snorts, disbelieving, reaching for the bottle again and leaning into him when he tries to hide it from her. "Really? What kind of man are you, then?"

 

They're so close they could be kissing instead of speaking. The bottle is behind his back, so Mels reaches around him for it, one hand balancing on his barstool, between his legs. Not quite touching, but suddenly more intimate than she'd imagined in her haste.

 

"Do you really want to know?"

 

Neither of them has moved. Just the slightest twitch one direction or another. Mels feels a surge of adrenaline and lust wing through her body. She grins, all teeth.

 

"I already do."

 

It's a reminder to herself. She knows who he is: a liar and a trickster who speaks in riddles. A lonely god with the blood of millions on his hands. Someone who can travel through all of time and space, and yet has let so many things go wrong. Pompeii. The Titanic. Hitler.

 

The Doctor sighs heavily as she withdraws, prized bottle clutched in her hands. "Oh, Mels, I very much doubt that."

 

Her name on his lips sounds somehow familiar and odd all at once, as though it's not the name he wants to call her. "How did you know my name?"

 

Does he know her, who she is? Does he know she's the woman who is going to kill him?

 

The Doctor squints at her and the bottle as though she's pissed already. "Mels? You told me."

 

Rolling her eyes, Mels refuses to let him wriggle out of an answer. "No, how did you know Mels was short for Melody?"

 

He scoffs, waving away her question. "What else would it be short for?"

 

"Melanie. Melinda. Melissa. Shall I go on?"

 

He scrunches up his face in disgust. "Do people really name their children those things? Melody is much better - beautiful and strong. It's a name out of a fairytale. Of course it's your name."

 

This time, she sips at her scotch, feeling almost shy under his praise. Not that she wants his praise. She doesn't need anyone to validate her, least of all _him_. "Fairytales are for children. My name is Mels."

 

"Ah. So it's not short for Melody?" His eyes are twinkling like he's laughing at her.

 

Of course it is. "It's not short for anything," she lies.

 

The Doctor shrugs, tipping back the last of his scotch, and he's managed not to answer her question after all. "My mistake."

 

Her eyes are drawn to his throat as he swallows. He sets the glass down and catches her gaze with a thoughtful little smirk. Instead of turning away, Mels shifts forward on her stool.

 

Maybe he is a liar and a trickster, but then, so is she.

 

"Hey, Mels - are we gonna dance, or what?"

 

The bloke she had hitched a lift to London with is clearly drunk already, watching them with open confusion and apparently suffering under the delusion that he has any say in what Mels does. He's more of an idiot than she thought, then.

 

The Doctor straightens, standing between them and scowling at the taller boy. "She's a bit busy at the moment, so why don't you just toddle off back to the playground, boy-o?"

 

All brawn and no brain, Chris - or was it Chet? Not that it matters - bristles at the Doctor's dismissal. "What are you, her father or something? How about you stay out of it?"

 

Rolling her eyes, Mels slips from her barstool, wrapping her arms around the Doctor's neck and pressing her body against his in a way that leaves no room for interpretation. "Piss off. We're busy."

 

Chris-or-Chet makes the mistake of reaching for her in his drunken confusion, and Mels levels him with a glare that promises severe injury if he touches her. He freezes, holding his hands up in surrender, "Whatever," and disappears back into the recesses of the club.

 

So much for her lift home.

 

The Doctor's hands settle at her bare waist, thumbs stroking across her skin, the heat of his whole body flush against hers. Mels licks her lips involuntarily and the Doctor's eyes follow the movement, dark even in the low light.

 

Mels repeats the motion, slower and more deliberate, before dropping away from him and back onto her barstool, using the distance to try to calm her breathing. She pours them another drink from the nearly empty bottle, glancing up to find the Doctor's gaze locked on hers, a smirk tugging at his lips. "What are you doing here?" she asks again, less accusation and more curiosity.

 

He takes the offered drink but doesn't sit, throwing it back and setting it heavily on the counter before offering her his hand. "I promised you dancing."

 

Biting back a grin to match his, Mels shrugs off her jacket as she stands, certain she can feel his eyes on the bare expanse of her back as she hooks it below the bar. "Didn't think this was your kind of dancing." But she lets him lead her to the crowded dance floor, hearts pounding in her ears with the heavy beat.

 

The Doctor has to lean close for her to hear him, his lips against her ears. "It's not," but his hands are warm and heavy on her hips, drawing her closer.

 

Mels grins at that, unreasonably pleased that he's making an exception for her. Well then, best make it a good one. She twists around, his hands dragging over her skin, pressing her arse blatantly back against him as she gyrates her hips to the bold, decadent music. He likes it, or her- if the prominent bulge in his trousers is any indication - his hands flexing at her hips.

 

His shirt is crisp and starched against her bare back and, now that she's paying attention, she can feel his two hearts pounding in time with her own. It sends a dangerous shiver down her spine, that final confirmation of who and what she is playing with. This is stupidly dangerous, even for her.

 

How can she resist?

 

And resisting is the farthest thing from her mind as the Doctor's hands trail over the trembling muscles of her stomach. He chuckles, low and promising, hands growing bolder in the darkness of the club, fingertips slipping up under the thin silk of her top to slide across the metal bar running through her skin.

 

Mels bites her lip to suppress a whimper, lifting her arms over her head as she moves to the music, her eyes fluttering shut since he can't see.

 

The Doctor dances surprisingly well, his hips following hers in time to the thumping, reverberating beat of the club. His hands roam her body blatantly, sliding around her ribs and under her top, thumbs brazenly brushing the undersides of her breasts as his lips trail her neck before settling to nibble against her racing pulse.

 

She can feel time in the double-beats of her hearts, just under his lips. He must feel it too. He must _know._

 

Her head is swimming already, far beyond her high alcohol tolerance, and that will never do. Mels rolls her whole body against his, suppressing a gasp when his thumb flicks against a hardened nipple. In retaliation, she bends forward to touch her toes, never losing her rhythm, and feels his hips stutter against hers, his hands back to her hips, holding tight.

 

Grinning triumphantly, Mels slowly rolls her way upright again, and the Doctor's breath is hot against her ear, fingers digging deliciously into her skin, and the warm hard planes of him pressed behind her.

 

"Turn around."

 

The low growl is worse than his wandering hands, settling low at her spine with the pooling heat churning there. Mels ignores him, repeating her last maneuver, until the Doctor growls again and spins her around, pressing their bodies tightly together so that she can't pull away.

 

His gaze is dark and his smirk is surprisingly wicked.

 

Mels laughs, feeling dangerous and liquid in his arms. She shifts until one of his legs is between her thighs, hips rocking together in a way that is far too lewd to be dancing. "Didn't you like the view?" She slides all the way down his body and back again, so close that she can feel every inch of him.

 

He doesn't seem to have anything on him, but then, this is the Doctor - it's impossible to be certain.

 

"Everyone is staring," the Doctor accuses, though he doesn't seem to mind if the way his hands roam her spine is any indication, fingers tugging teasingly at the thin tie to her top.

 

They certainly will be staring if he undresses her in the middle of the dance floor - not that Mels would mind. "That's because you look old enough to be my father or grandfather," Mels teases, rolling her hips against his in a decidedly _not_ familial kind of way.

 

He chuckles, low, at her ear, his hands leaving the ties of her top only to slip down and cup her arse, squeezing cheekily. "I'm older than I look," he echoes words from the front seat of a Jaguar even as he shifts his leg to grind his thigh roughly against her sex.

 

"So am I, but then, you already knew that," Mels accuses, her hearts pounding with the music, with the throbbing between her legs where he is pressed against her, and with the absolute _wrongness_ of this. But then again, Mels has never let right or wrong stop her before. "Come on, then, _Granddad_ , you promised me dancing."

 

She has to fight to keep her voice steady, but it's worth it when the Doctor jerks away from her in surprise at _Granddad_ , balking. Mels merely laughs and grabs him by his crisp white collar, dragging him through the club with her.

 

"I thought we were dancing," he huffs, hands back at her hips as he tries not to get lost in the crowd, offense apparently forgotten.

 

Mels sniggers, her grip never loosening on his collar. "Bless, you were actually serious."

 

All the darker corners are already occupied by other couples or trios or orgies, and Mels doesn't have the patience to go far. She heads straight for the loo, dragging him after and ignoring the startled looks and rude comments they receive as she shoves him into a stall and follows, locking the flimsy door behind them.

 

Surprisingly, the Doctor's cheeks are stained red when she smiles up at him. It would be cute, if she didn't know exactly who she was dealing with.

 

They have to stand nearly on top of each other in the tiny little stall, but then, that was rather the point. Nowhere to run. Mostly in public, but not enough to get them thrown out. Witnesses.

 

"You can't just drag me into a public loo for a shag," he hisses, trying to keep his voice down, looking scandalized for a man who shagged her in the middle of a motorway in a convertible.

 

Mels arches into him, leaning back against the door and testing whether it will hold her weight. "Why not? Afraid we'll get caught?"

 

The danger is a large part of the appeal. Being caught. Being with him.

 

The Doctor mutters something that sounds like, "Wouldn't be the first time," but the faint blush has been replaced by a wicked look, and she thinks that he enjoys misbehaving as much as she does.

 

What a bad boy.

 

He drops to his knees on the dirty stall floor, with no regard at all for his sharp black trousers, hands already sliding her top up until he can palm her breasts.

 

His hot breath skitters across her stomach, leaving gooseflesh in its wake, before his lips close over her piercing, tonguing and tugging at the jewelry in a way that still leaves her legs weak.

 

Mels moans, arching her chest into his hands and letting her head thump back against the door.

 

The Doctor pinches her nipple, and Mels gasps at the sharp sensation. "Quiet."

 

"Why, going to gag me again?" Mels challenges, threading her hands through his short, soft curls and tugging not at all gently.

 

He smirks at her, a bit too knowing. "You'd like that. But I don't have to gag you."

 

His voice is low and growly and she can't deny that it sends her pulse racing. "I'm not a little girl anymore - you can't just tell me what to do."

 

The Doctor actually laughs at her. "Oh, but you really, really are."

 

Mels itches to slap him. She slides one leg over his shoulder and arches an eyebrow. "What does that make you, then?"

 

"Terribly perverted," the Doctor flashes her that wicked half smile again, "and it'll make you scream, so watch your tongue, lass."

 

He moves faster than she expects, either because she's forgotten that his age is a mask or because she's been dulled by too much exposure to Leadworth, but her top is off and her skirt is about her waist before she can think to stop him, the Doctor's mouth fastened over her piercing as his hand strokes her through her knickers.

 

Her whole body jolts toward him at the contact, her breath catching and her hands curling into fists in his hair. She bites her lip to keep quiet and the Doctor hums approvingly, the sound reverberating in the metal laced through her skin.

 

Mels makes a keening sound that she will absolutely deny is a whimper, choking back even that as the Doctor's skilled fingers rub at her clit through damp mesh, just rough enough to catch hedonistically against her skin with every stroke.

 

She could come like this, with him barely touching her, with just that right edge of carnal pain spiking her deliriously higher with every catch of his teeth over metal or scratch of mesh against her skin.

 

Mels isn't sure whether she should encourage him or beg him to stop, so she bites down harder on her lip, tasting the sharp copper of her own blood, and digs her nails into the Doctor's scalp, her booted heel gouging into his back.

 

With one last pointed thrust of his tongue against her piercing that sends bolts of pleasure radiating through her body, centered from his mouth to his fingertips, the Doctor resumes his path down her stomach.

 

Mels exhales a shaky breath, unclenching her teeth. "I didn't scream," she challenges, trying to regain some sense of control over the situation.

 

The Doctor chuckles against her skin, ice blue eyes burning through her from under decadent brows. "Not yet," he promise, hooking his thumbs under her knickers and sliding the slippery wet mesh down her thighs just far enough to fasten his lips over her clit.

 

One of his hands slides under her to grip her arse, squeezing and holding her where he wants her as her hips jerk and try to buck up into his mouth. When he uses his free hand to slide two fingers inside her, just a touch rough and fast - just how she likes it - Mels releases one hand from his hair in favor of biting down on her fist.

 

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuuuuck._

 

Being with him is more all-consuming than she remembers. The noise of the club and the hot, tiny little stall only amplifying the wild fervor in the way he touches her.

 

Or maybe that's realizing that it's the Doctor she has between her legs, hands once coated with the blood of the masses now sticky from her sex. With a little effort, she could probably snap his neck like this.

 

Mels lets her head thump back against the stall door and gives herself over to the way he plays her body expertly. Who better than a murderer to know just how to touch a psychopath.

 

Only he doesn't touch her like that at all. He touches her as though she is consecrated. As though he is a zealot at an altar. As though he wants to eat her right up.

 

And when he curls his fingers into that perfect spot, his lips and teeth circling her clit, Mels comes all in a rush, letting him worship her or consume her as she shudders through a scream that is muffled by her own fist between her teeth.

 

He withdraws gently, ducking out from under her leg. He works her knickers down her thighs and over her boots before tucking the ruined wad of skimpy wet material into his coat pocket as he rises slowly, watching Mels intently the entire time.

 

She uncurls her fists long enough to drag him forward for a messy kiss. That too is as intense as she remembers, all the more vivid and desperate now that he's in front of her, and it seems a renewed rush of wetness between her legs. He tastes like her and the scotch they were drinking: dark and sharp and dangerous. He kisses her like it's the end of the universe.

 

"Condom?" Mels manages when they part to catch their breaths. She has one - two actually, just in case - tucked in her coat pocket along with a penknife. But her coat is still hanging under the bar and she only has a knife on her - two, just in case, one tucked into each boot. Mels is always prepared for anything, and yet she never seems to be prepared for him.

 

The Doctor stares at her blankly for a moment. "Oh. Right." Then thrusts one hand in his pocket, emerging with half a roll.

 

Mels shifts so that her back is to him, watching him over her shoulder and bracing herself with her hands against the sturdier stall corners. "Somebody's prepared."

 

His erection springs out when he opens his trousers, straining toward her. Mels watches him roll the latex over its impressive length, her body tingling in anticipation that is only heightened by her recent orgasm. He knows just how to use it too, as she remembers.

 

She licks her lips, arching her arse towards him eagerly even as she mocks him. "Like a boy scout."

 

"Turn around," he demands, voice low and rough.

 

Mels almost does, stopping herself just before she instinctively gives in to the promise inherent in his demand. Besides, the door isn't sturdy enough. "Shut up and fuck me," she orders back.

 

Instead of chiding her for language, he scoffs, "Hardly appropriate behavior for a boy scout. Still think I'm one?" And he doesn't give her any time to reply before he shifts forward and presses into her, proving that he's really, really not.

 

The tails of his crisp white shirt tickle her arse as they drag across her skin. He rolls smoothly into a hard, deep rhythm, dragging Mels back into a position he likes better and that leaves Mels already on the edge again.

 

Rocking her hips back to meet his thrusts, the stall shaking with the force of them, Mels hisses " _Ohfuckyes!_ " in an exhale.

 

The Doctor leans over her. His breath coming in warm pants against her neck. " _Quiet._ " One of his hands looses from her hip to clap firmly over her mouth.

 

Not that there's much quiet in the slick slap of his body against hers, their flesh parting and coming together again in a harsh rhythm.

 

As he drives into her, the flat of his palm comes down, hard against her arse. Mels gasps, her cunt clenching down on his cock and her body strung taut.

 

The Doctor chuckles, a dark sound. "There's my bad girl." He punctuates his words with long, hard thrusts that leave Mels biting back a whimper. "Are you going to come on my prick?"

 

It's a question and a demand and the tone of his voice is almost enough to tumble her over right there. Mels quivers, body clenching down helplessly, desperately on his cock.

 

On his next thrust, he smacks her again, harder, just so, and Mels comes as he'd commanded, her teeth biting into the soft flesh of his palm.

 

The Doctor grunts and thrusts her through it, only instead of ebbing the diffuse pleasure is already coalescing again, coiling tight, centered at where they are joined.

 

"That's my girl," he praises, and it's just as alluring, trickling down her insides just like his commands.

 

It builds higher and higher with every stroke, her cunt so sensitive and tight around his cock that she can feel it throbbing as he fucks her, harder and deeper.

 

The hand not around her mouth moves to her tits, squeezing and pinching with just that edge of pain exactly how she likes it.

 

 _More,_ she mouths against his hand, grinding down hard on his cock, meeting his every thrust and urging him faster. Her vision black at the edges.

 

The Doctor growls, his hand sliding down her body, pausing to tug sharply at her navel ring before his clever fingers find her clit, and Mels is gone.

 

She's dimly aware of him following behind her with a grunt beyond the haze of orgasm enveloping her. When her vision clears and the roaring of her pulse in her ears subsides, the Doctor is slumped against her, their bodies pressed into the stall door and his breath harsh in her ear.

 

He withdraws from her slowly, hands lingering over her body and tugging down her skirt as he does so. He shuffles a step back, and Mels manages to turn on shaky legs to see his trousers round his ankles as he rolls the condom off to drop in the toilet with a look of utter disgust.

 

He mutters something she only hears part of "Bloody... hard work.... young..." and fights with the paper roll before successfully locating the end and passing her a wad of paper before tidying himself up and rescuing his trousers.

 

The thought flashes through her head that he's adorable, and she quickly stuffs it away, scowling as she locates her top dangling over the stall door and goes about tying it back on.

 

They stumble out of the stall to some smirks and glares. Mels ignores both as she washes up, fixing her hair.

 

In the mirror, she can see the Doctor hovering uncomfortably, face stained red. A woman pauses to give him a nasty look as she shoves past. "Seriously, at your age? You should be ashamed!"

 

Mels gives into silent laughter. If only the woman knew the half of it.

 

The Doctor scowls. "And you should mind your own bloody business."

 

When she's gone though, the Doctor slips behind Mels, pressing her into the sink as he washes his hands, positively shameless. When she meets his eyes in the mirror he's smirking.

 

Mels bites her lip. "Do you think she's phoning the coppers?"

 

"Undoubtedly."

 

Mels matches his grin. "We'd better leave before they get here. I don't have any ID." She doesn't have any cash either. It's easy enough to get her drinks paid for. Easier still to steal cash if she needs it.

 

The Doctor raises his eyebrows, a mischievous grin on his face. "Neither do I." He holds something up, glinting and chiming. Car keys. "What do you think she drives? Something as garish and loud as she is?"

 

Chewing thoughtfully on her lip, Mels spins to rake her gaze over him in appreciation. The Doctor is a thief - how thrilling and unexpected. Her fingers close over the keys. "Let's find out."

 

He steals them back with a deft slight of hand that only proves her suspicions, a naked sort of longing in his eyes that strips Mels naked all over again. But the Doctor swallows back whatever words match the intense blue of his eyes, murmuring, "Bad girl," appreciatively instead.

 

Instead of fidgeting with her clothes, Mels runs her hands deliberately over her own breasts as she 'straightens' her top and slides under the Doctor's arm, the rougher material of his coat leaving her nipples peaked again already. "Shall we give them a show?"

 

The Doctor dodges her attempt to swipe the keys, his arm tightening around her. One large hand splays possessively across her hip, his thumb stroking the exposed skin of her waist in a way that tingles straight to her tight nipples. "I thought we already did."

 

She shivers at the dangerous tone of his voice. She likes the danger. She thinks the Doctor does too. Wrapped around him - just to make him (and everyone else) squirm - Mels purrs, "Show's not over yet," and drags them out of the loo and into the dark, pulsing club before he can argue.

  
The door bangs against the wall and the nearest dancers turn to look, squinting at them in the dark. There's a commotion by the manager's office, surely the mouthy woman adding some urgency to their escape.

 

The Doctor's fingers curl tighter into her hip, but he doesn't flinch or pull away, thumb never ceasing the maddening circles against her bare skin.

 

Mels steers them back to the bar, shoving shamelessly through the crowd without letting go of the Doctor and passing perilously close to the office. She catches her jacket with her free hand without pausing to stop, and then they're shoving through the front doors and into the night.

 

Filled with the rush of escape and the tingle of his palm on her skin, Mels arches into his touch. She loops her arms around his fragile neck, deceptively innocent, as she rocks her hips blatantly against his. "I can't believe you nicked her keys!"

 

"Well, she was rude." To her delight, he blushes again, looking embarrassed and muttering something that sounds like, "You're a terrible influence..." as he hides his head in her neck, lips hot against her skin.

 

She's losing her head again, in his arms. Forgetting who they are and where they are. Mels extricates herself and the Doctor doesn't protest, even though she thinks his breathing is as ragged as hers. There's a treacherous, insatiable feeling curling through her, possessive and demanding, making her want him again even though she's just had him.

 

"I'll drive." Mels cocks her hip and holds her hand out for the keys, attempting to distract them both and eyeing the bubblegum pink Audi TT with amusement and a flash of excitement.

 

His fist snaps shut over them. The Doctor shakes his head, more fond than stern. "Maybe when you're older."

 

Mels shrugs. It's not that good of a sports car anyway. She can steal something better if she wants to go for a drive. She's feeling too languid and pleased to fuss, particularly when this means she gets to watch her gruff Scot driving the tiny pink sports car. "Shame about the hood. And the back seat," Mels casually offers as she climbs into the passenger seat.

 

The Doctor is already fiddling with the many buttons, adjusting the seat to accommodate his long legs. "The back seat? What about it?"

 

"That there isn't one."

 

The Doctor chuckles - that warm low sound that makes her eye the back of the car with renewed regret. "Insatiable minx."

 

The engine rumbles to life with the quiet purr of a luxury car, sedate and sedated where a sports car should be wild and uninhibited. Mels watches the Doctor out of the corner of her eye. Bites her already injured lip. "I don't know if I should let you drive. You could be taking me anywhere."

 

"Would you mind?"

 

He looks a bit like he's laughing at her again. The girl who was so eager to run away that she held a gun to his head. Mels slides down in the seat and watches him openly. Boldly. "Why would I?"

 

"Run away with me then. Let's go see the universe - just you and I, Mels." He turns to her at a streetlight and she can see, just for a moment: why people run away with him. Believe in him. It is all there - endless possibility - in the galaxies sparkling behind ancient eyes, in the boundless enthusiasm of his voice.

 

He isn't kidding about the universe either. Mels sucks in a deep breath. Exhales. "Why?" Why would he offer to take her away with him?

 

She expects another flippant _why not?_ , but he surprises her. Again. Always. "Because you, Mels Zucker, are amazing. You're smart and beautiful. And brave."

 

Mels turns away from his gaze, a strange feeling twisting up her insides. He speaks as though he knows her. "I bet you say that to all the girls you shag." But it comes a beat too late, too brittle to be convincingly dismissive.

 

"Only you."

 

The light changes and Mels dares to look up. Safer to watch him in profile. He looks sadder than a moment before, somehow resigned.

 

"My parents are getting married today." It bursts out against her will, too honest and vulnerable for the silence of the car. She hates herself immediately for the moment of weakness.

She watches him carefully for signs of recognition as he turns to her, but his focus remains entirely on her. If this is a Doctor who knew her parents, she can't tell.

 

Some emotion flickers, undefinable, across his features. "You should be there."

 

Mels glances away again. "They don't need me." _Not when they have you._

 

"I don't believe that. In fact, I can guarantee that their daughter is absolutely vital to their wedding." He sounds so certain that for one moment she desperately wants to believe him.

 

"How would you know?"

 

He offers her a tight, sad smile and says nothing.

 

The silence stretches between them, long like the dark road before them.

 

"If you hurry back, you might catch them," he suggests, somehow sheepish and gruff at the same time in a way that Mels has come to realize means he's being genuine.

 

Mels blinks up at him, startled at the suggestion, but his eyes are on the road - impossible to decipher. "It's too late - they're already gone."

 

"Just you and me, then."

 

She wonders again, if he knows. That it was always meant to be just the two of them in the end that is not yet tonight.

 

Watching the night speed by, the first hints of sunrise peeking out in dark purple streaks near the horizon, Mels allows herself one terrifying second to wish that they never have to end at all.


End file.
